


A Triple Sight in Blindness

by BlossomsintheMist



Category: Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Archived from theforce.net, Established Relationship, F/M, Hugs, Kissing, Millennium Falcon - Freeform, Missing Scene, Movie: Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Reunions, Semi-established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 01:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16863829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: A quiet moment between Han and Leia after escaping from Jabba's palace.  Han feels like everything is changing.





	A Triple Sight in Blindness

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote from John Keats, "There is a budding morrow in midnight, / There is a triple sight in blindness keen." This was originally posted in 2009.

Han was pretty sure his vision really was getting better. He could even see shapes again, even if they were blurry ones. Leia’s slim arm was still solidly around his waist, supporting and leading him, but he didn’t really have much to object to about that. He could walk just fine on his own, but feeling anything again was a whole new kind of blessing after what had felt like an eternity of nothing but blackness and delirium, let alone feeling Leia’s strong, slender form, the warmth of her there against his side (weird how he still felt cold despite walking through the middle of a sandstorm on Tatooine), even though she smelled like sweat and the smoky squalor of Jabba’s palace. She was still Leia, and there, and that really wasn’t something he’d thought he’d get ever again. It was worth a sandstorm or two.  
  
A hand touched his shoulder, and he started before he recognized it, the kind of touch it was—a steady, earnest clasp of his shoulder. Had to be Luke. “We’re almost there!” Luke shouted over the roar of the wind. “I can see the ships!”  
  
The ships? The _Falcon_. Han looked up wildly, straining his eyes through his protective goggles for the sight of his beloved freighter, but his vision still wasn’t good enough to pierce the billowing clouds of sand. “I can’t believe you can see anything in this sand-blast,” Han muttered.  
  
He could hear Luke’s smile in his voice when he responded. “I used to live here, you know,” he said again.  
  
“We should keep going!” Leia shouted. “We can’t stop here!”  
  
Han had no arguments there. Even though he hadn’t been aware of much, and definitely not where he was, for most of his time on Tatooine, it already felt like he’d been on the planet for a thousand years. He didn’t exactly want to stick around and see the sights. He could hear Chewie’s roar of agreement from behind them.  
  
Luke’s arm slid around his shoulders, supporting him on his other side, and even though Han really didn’t need the help—really, he was feeling a lot better!—it was too much of a pain to waste time and energy shouting over the howl of the storm to tell Luke that really, he was fine on his own, and even if he hadn’t been, leaning on Leia would have done the trick. Not that he needed to be leaning on Leia; it was just nice, just a nice feeling, that was all.  
  
Han could see a shadow, now, through the blurring sand, maybe it was—and then they were stumbling into the shelter of the two ships, and he knew that it _was_ her, was the _Falcon_. Luke and Leia and Lando were shouting back and forth, with Chewie adding occasional opinions, but Han didn’t care, just let their voices fade into the background for a second. He wished to hell he could see better—all he could manage to make out was the rough shape of her; he couldn’t tell whether or not Lando had been treating her right, how she was doing—even Chewie was too rough with her sometimes, and—  
  
What Luke was saying finally sank into his brain—something about meeting them later—and Han turned belatedly, clumsily catching at Luke’s arm just to make his point clear. “Hey, Luke,” he said, “wait a second—” and then stopped because he had no idea what to say next. Luke stopped and waited, and Han swallowed, finding himself completely at a loss for words. “Thanks,” he managed finally. It didn’t seem like enough.  
  
“No need to thank me, Han,” Luke said, sounding almost embarrassed. Han squinted but still couldn’t make out his face, which would have been covered with goggles and protective wrappings anyway. It bothered Han a little, somehow, left him feeling disoriented—Luke was still the same kid he’d said goodbye to on Hoth, wasn’t he? He’d sounded so different at times back there in the palace, and then there was all that crap everyone was spouting about him being a Jedi now, but as different as he was, he was the same old Luke, right? But Han suddenly wanted to be sure that Luke still gave that same shamefaced grin when he got embarrassed, wanted to see him smile, the expressions that should have accompanied the tone of his voice, wanted to be certain that Luke really was still Luke. “Really,” Luke said.  
  
“No,” Han replied, and closed his hand around Luke’s arm, looked steadily into what he was pretty sure was his face. “No, really, I mean it. Thank you.” He could feel Leia take his hand on his other side and squeeze his fingers, and he squeezed hers back. “It . . . means a lot to me.” The words sounded lame, stupid. He felt like an idiot, saying all this out loud, but . . . .  
  
“I owed you at least one,” Luke said, a smile still in his voice. “Remember? Besides, Han . . . you’re my friend.  You're _our_ friend.” His tone implied that their coming after him should have been a given, that he didn't feel like Han had even needed to bring it up.  
  
“Yeah,” Han said, feeling disoriented. Friends. Yeah, but . . . . He shook his head. “Either way. So . . . uh, where are you off to?”  
  
“I’ll tell you all about it sometime,” Luke said, sounding rueful. “How’s that?” He laid one hand on Han’s arm. “Take care of yourself now, Han.”  
  
“Yeah,” Han said. He swallowed. “No problem. Meet you back at the fleet.”  
  
He felt Leia step up beside him, felt more than saw her hug Luke, which was just a blurry movement in his vision. “We’ll see you again soon?” she said, and her voice was tight, concerned.  
  
“Of course,” Luke said. He hugged her back. Han looked away, feeling faintly out of the loop. How long had he been out of it, anyway?  
  
“Luke, thank you,” Leia said.  
  
“Not you, too,” Luke said sheepishly. “C’mon, Leia. Take care of Han, all right?”  
  
“Hey!” Han said. “I can take care of myself just fine. It’s you two I’ve gotta worry about.” He turned toward Chewie for support. “Right, Chewie?”  
  
Chewie was actually a little further behind him than he’d thought, and as one furry paw steadied Han’s shoulder, Chewie’s response was that he usually worried about all three of them, and had serious doubts about their abilities to take care of themselves.  
  
“Close enough,” Han muttered.  
  
Lando laughed from closer beside Han than he’d expected. “We’ll all meet up back at the fleet anyway,” he said. “Let’s get off this rock.”  
  
“You’ve got no arguments from me,” Leia said.  
  
“Thanks for your help, Lando,” Luke said, and then touched Han’s arm again. “Good to have you back, Han,” he said, his voice as sincere and genuine as ever. That was Luke for you, but for some reason this time it left Han feeling weird, disoriented. Luke hugged Leia one more time, said, “See you soon, Threepio,” and Han was pretty sure he saw him salute Chewie over Threepio’s answer before he jogged to his X-Wing and climbed into the cockpit—Chewie roared an acknowledgment at least.  
  
“Oh, do take care, Master Luke,” Threepio said. “Look after him, Artoo, and . . . do look after yourself as well.” Artoo gave a burble in response, though he was already rolling after Luke.  
  
Leia took Han’s hand again. “C’mon,” she said in a low voice. “Let’s get out of here.”  
  
Han couldn’t have agreed more. “I’m ready to show this place my thruster wash,” he said, and started up the ramp after her. Chewie steadied him on the way up, and Threepio said something about how glad he was to be getting out of this wretched sand at last, and then Han was back onboard the _Falcon_. He was smelling the same old smells of engine oil and metal and stale spice and Wookiee and vent cleaner that the _Falcon_ had always smelled of, even if the scent was a little bit different, unfamiliar, unsettling—whether it was Lando’s cologne or just a lack of something Han recognized he wasn’t sure, but it didn’t weaken the effect of it all washing over him. In fact, it might only have strengthened it. His eyes stung, and he felt embarrassingly choked up all at once.  
  
“Welcome home,” Chewie roared, and Han had to swallow.  
  
“Yeah, buddy,” he said. “Yeah.”  
  
“Mind if I prep her for takeoff?” Lando asked in a fairly apologetic tone. “I don’t know how much your vision has come back yet, and—”  
  
“Give me a minute, will ya?” Han snapped, and immediately felt a twinge of guilt at his tone. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole Lando thing, but he had just helped save him from a lifetime as Jabba’s favorite wall decoration, and that was something. “Sorry,” he said.  
  
“Understood, understood,” Lando said easily. “You take your time.”  
  
Leia took Han’s arm. He blinked, his eyes still blurring images together, but he could see the shape of the _Falcon_ ’s hold, the holotable. He blinked again, struggled to swallow, and let Leia lead him into the cockpit, the two of them following Chewie.  
  
When he reached it, Han broke away from Leia and fell into the pilot’s seat before he even knew what he was doing. The feeling of it was familiar, welcoming. At least nothing there had changed. He laid his hands against the controls, seeking out the thrusters, the hyperspace lever, all of the controls in turn. “Hey, beautiful,” he muttered, his throat still feeling thick and rather tight. “You miss me? Well, I’m back.”  
  
Chewie laid a paw on his shoulder and gave a low, interrogatory growl. He wanted to know if Han thought he could take her out of Tatooine.  
  
“Yeah, I don’t know, pal,” Han said. He hoped his voice didn’t sound too thick. “You’d better take her up; I still can’t see too great.” He patted the console one last time, running his hand lovingly over the _Falcon_ ’s control panels, reassuring the ship that he was back or himself he wasn’t sure, and then Leia was there to help him to his feet as he struggled to push himself back up.  
  
“Need a hand, Captain?” she asked.  
  
Han took her hand, finding it on the second try—okay, so his depth perception was still a little out of whack—and let her help tug him upward. He was feeling a little bit dizzy again, he realized as he stood up, and he still ached all over, his joints, under his skin. “Still not quite myself, I guess,” he said with as much dismissive humor as he could. “But then, you’re the expert on this hibernation sickness stuff around here.” He patted the _Falcon_ one last time. “Be back soon, baby,” he muttered. “You take care of her, Chewie.”  
  
“I am not an expert,” Leia said in an annoyed tone.  
  
Chewie responded in no uncertain terms that Han should take care of himself.  
  
“Hey,” Han responded, “I’m doing just fine.” That moment his muscles seemed to take the hint to seize up with another of the periodic muscle cramps he’d been hoping had faded for good, and he couldn’t quite keep back a groan.  
  
“That’s it,” Leia said. “Han, you need to rest.”  
  
“Yeah, maybe,” Han allowed.  
  
Lando and he could fly the _Falcon_ just fine, Chewie assured him. Han should listen to the Princess.  
  
Han just gave him a look to tell him what he thought of that.  
  
“Yes,” Lando agreed, coming into the cockpit, “you bet we can fly the _Falcon_. What are you still doing up here, anyway, you pirate?”  
  
“Don’t let him do anything funny, Chewie,” Han said warningly. “You’d better treat my ship like a—like a princess, Lando. And don’t you go forgetting who she belongs to.”  
  
“All right, all right,” Lando said with a laugh, “I got it.” Chewie roared a reassurance that he’d remind Lando if he forgot himself, and knowing how Chewie tended to remind people who forgot their place with the _Falcon_ , that was good enough for Han. “Get outta here,” Lando finished.  
  
“You really should lie down, Han,” Leia broke in. “You’ll recover more quickly with some rest.”  
  
“Okay, _okay_ ,” Han said. “Keep it slow and easy, Chewie, there’s no big rush.” He ducked out of the cockpit, following Leia.  
  
“Captain Solo!” Threepio exclaimed. “Allow me to express my relief at seeing you alive and . . . er, relatively unharmed. Why, for some time there I believed the chances of recovering you to be negligible at best, though of course I did recall your disregard for statistics—”  
  
“Threepio,” Leia broke in just as Han was rolling his eyes and wondering if he really looked that bad if Threepio was commenting on it, “we’re going to be taking off in a moment. You’d better strap yourself in. Han’s just going to lie down for a bit, all right?” Han had a feeling she was giving him a significant look, even if he couldn’t see it. He could practically feel her eyes burning into the side of his head.  
  
“Oh, yes, of course, Mistress Leia,” Threepio responded. “Can I be of any use to you or to Captain Solo?”  
  
“Not just yet,” Leia said. “Maybe in a while. I’ll call you if you’re needed. Now go on.” She took Han’s arm and led him past Threepio and into the corridor outside the main hold.  
  
“Good job dealing with Goldenrod,” Han said as the doors slid shut behind them.  
  
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Leia said with a sigh. “The last few months, especially. And even on his most frustrating days Threepio isn’t as bad as most Imperial Senators.”  
  
“That I can believe,” Han allowed. Leia led him down the corridor. Han waited until they were in the crew quarters, the door sliding shut behind them, to curl his arm around her waist and pull her close to him. Leia had kissed him after she’d released him from the carbonite, said she loved him for the second time, but maybe that had been just the heat of the moment, her way of letting him know who she was. Han had certainly appreciated it—it’d been like the inertial compensators coming on after an eternity of freefall, a nav buoy in Wild Space, damn, he didn’t even know what it had been like. Incredible, indescribable. The memory had kept him going through a night in Jabba’s dank dungeon and all the rest of it, even when he’d been going half out of his mind with worry for her, because, hell, he knew what Jabba was like.  
  
He just wished he could see her more clearly, her face, the expression she was making at him now, he was sure it was some kind of scowl, wished his vision wasn’t still so damn blurry. He hadn’t been able to really look at her since Bespin, and . . . he raised his hand, traced it along her cheek, her lips and nose, brushing his fingers over her eyes. Her features—strong but still delicate—felt familiar, somehow, even without being able to look at them. Still Leia, even if he couldn’t see her. “Princess—” he said, and his voice sounded hoarse.  
  
“What do you think you’re doing?” Leia demanded. Her tone was stern, but underneath that it shook just slightly, and her voice was quiet, lower than normal.  
  
Well, Han thought, you never got anywhere without taking a few chances. He took a deep breath, bent his head, and kissed Leia firmly, squinting carefully to make sure he didn’t miss her lips or anything embarrassing like that.  
  
He wasn’t clear on exactly what he’d expected from the kiss, but when Leia sucked her breath in past her lips and then kissed him back, eagerly, her hands sliding up to twist in his hair, Han felt something relax in his shoulders, a tension he hadn’t even realized was there leach out of him. A coiled knot of emotion untwisted all at once in his chest, like in the show of an old street performer he’d seen once on the streets of Coronet, and suddenly his heart was pounding, thudding through him, in his ears, in his throat, and he felt hot, then cold, with adrenaline, as if he were feeling all of it at the same time, all the emotions he’d been pressing down, fighting against since getting out of carbonite, ever since he’d kissed Leia in the carbon-freezing chamber who knew how long ago now. His worry, his fear for Leia, trapped in that den of scum because she’d come into it after him, his own helplessness and rage and frustration, the pain and shakes and paranoia and fear of the hibernation sickness, his own disbelief, the rush of seeing Luke again, and Chewie, and of realizing they’d all come after him, even the droids, the pulse-pounding adrenaline of that battle where he could hardly see, all of it beating through him at once. He held Leia to him tightly, tugging her close, feeling as if her small form was the only thing keeping him steady, like he might veer off course otherwise, or maybe explode, without the press of her lips to his. She tasted vaguely of expensive Alderaanian brandy and the dryness of the desert—maybe a drink from the party Jabba had probably been having to celebrate their executions—and her neck was slim, flexible under his hand as she bent her head back, her hair soft in its dangling braid against the backs of his fingers. Han hadn’t kissed anyone like this, with this sudden, searing, blazing emotion and need, since he’d been a kid who didn’t know any better, since Bria, and he wasn’t sure he liked the feeling or if it scared him or what, but he couldn’t stop. Leia’s small, delicate lips were chapped and rough, her mouth hot and just as demanding as his, her hands carding desperately through his hair, clinging tightly to the back of his skull. Han wondered how she’d felt, seeing him get put into carbonite and carted off to Jabba, wondered how much it had meant to her, wondered if she’d been feeling all the desperation she was kissing him now with all that time, and it was a strange feeling to wonder all that, to worry about her, to worry more about how she’d felt, what she’d felt, than how he’d felt about it, even as he tightened his arms around her to hold her even closer.  
  
Leia was the first to pull away. She took a deep breath, gasping for a moment, before Han could hear her blow her breath out and she turned away. “You really do need to lie down,” she said, her tone almost too brisk, too businesslike, to be steady. She stepped away to turn back the blankets on a bunk and dig out another pillow before opening another one of the storage compartments and pulling out a medkit. It was kind of strange, watching her do that kind of thing; Han felt like he was more used to seeing her bark orders at everyone in sight or talk people into doing what she wanted or run the Rebellion with her eyes closed.  
  
Han realized with a start that his vision had cleared even more, even if he was still getting the shakes and his body clenching itself into cramps unexpectedly every few minutes—he could see more and more of what Leia was doing, see her features now, even if they were still blurry. The sight thickened his throat unexpectedly. Sith it, what was wrong with him? Han ran a hand over his face and took a shaky, steadying breath before he leaned against the bulkhead as nonchalantly as he could manage.  
  
“I’m not exactly about to pass out here, your Worship,” he said when he trusted his voice again. “You can give it a rest.”  
  
“You’re starting that again?” Leia snapped. “It’s _Leia_.” That sounded like the princess he knew, all right. Han grinned to himself. “And pass out or not, you need to rest.” She spun around to face him, stalking forward to poke her finger into his chest. “Lie _down_ , Han.”  
  
He caught her hand—he couldn’t help it; she just made it so easy sometimes—and grinned at her. He felt strange, almost giddy with the familiarity of it all, his teasing, her snapping his head off, all of it not really flirting but maybe not so far from it after all. _Get a hold on yourself, Solo_ , his mind was telling him firmly, but for a moment, at least, he couldn’t seem to care. “Is that an invitation?” he asked teasingly.  
  
“I really don’t think you’re up to it at the moment,” Leia said in a dry tone.  
  
“Hey!” Han started, affronted, but then she hit him in the chest, shoving him off balance far more easily than he’d expected, and used his own momentum to push him back down onto the bunk. He sat down, hard, with the force of his own movement. “Wha—” Han sputtered. “What the hell was that Teräs Käsi stuff?”  
  
“Echani self-defense training, actually,” Leia said. “My father insisted on it, and it certainly has come in handy over the years. But Han—” she leaned down, laying one hand against gently the back of his neck, “a Kowakian monkey-lizard could probably knock you over right now.”  
  
“I’m _fine_!” Han protested. “Really, I’m feeling a lot better!”  
  
“A lot better and good aren’t the same thing,” Leia replied flatly.  
  
Of course, just then another muscle cramp decided to wrench its way through Han’s body. Han couldn’t quite keep himself from hunching forward, or from groaning. At least his vision had cleared enough to see Leia’s raised eyebrows when it passed, leaving him chilled and damp with cold sweat, and he looked back up at her.  
  
“Fine,” Leia repeated, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yes, I can see that.”  
  
“All right, so I’m not a hundred percent,” Han admitted. “I still wouldn’t go _that_ far,” he added in a mutter.  
  
Leia just shook her head at him and opened the medkit to rifle through it. “I want you to get checked out by a medical droid when we get back to the fleet,” she said. “We don’t really know what the side effects could be—hibernation sickness isn’t well understood, and they said that there was no way to predict how it would affect your system.”  
  
“All right, sure,” Han said easily. He had absolutely no intention of getting poked and prodded by any medical droid. “If I’m still feeling it by then.”  
  
Leia gave him a warning look. “Han,” she said.  
  
“What?” he protested, giving her his most innocent expression.  
  
“Don’t try that on me,” she said, taking out a stim-shot and readying it. “It won’t work.” Han gave it a dubious look.  
  
“What are you going to do with that?” he asked suspiciously.  
  
“It’s a stim-shot,” Leia said. “I’m going to give it to you, what does it look like I’m going to do with it?”  
  
“I don’t need it,” Han said quickly. “I’m fine!” He really wasn’t too fond of needles, he had to admit it; at least, to himself.  
  
“It’s a pneumatic dispenser; you won’t even feel it,” Leia said.  
  
“That doesn’t make any difference,” Han argued, but he was too late, Leia just yanked up his sleeve and gave him the injection all the same. Han imagined he could feel the rush as the stimulant flooded into his system, but he knew it was just his imagination. It would take several minutes to spread through his bloodstream. Leia dug a medisensor out of the medkit and frowned seriously as she trained it over him. Han blinked again, still frustrated by how slowly his vision was clearing, and reached out to lay his hand on her arm, sliding his palm up her forearm to her wrist. He let his hand rest there for a moment, feeling the thudding of her pulse. “Hey,” he said, and swallowed, looking down. “Leia . . .” he slid his hand up to curl their fingers together.  
  
“What is it?” Leia asked. He thought she might be biting the inside of her lip as she traced the sensor over him.  
  
“You came after me,” Han said, struggling to feel his way through his emotions, the thoughts swirling around inside his head, even as he spoke. “You all did. And the Alliance . . . .”  
  
“The Alliance sanctioned our operation,” Leia said. Her voice was still brisk, even, but she didn’t pull her hand away. It was small, cool in his. “You’re too valuable to us to leave you in the clutches of someone like Jabba.” It sounded like a well-rehearsed phrase, an argument she’d made before.  
  
“Even though I wasn’t gonna come back to the Rebellion?” Han asked. “C’mon, princess, we both know I was about to light out of there like a mynock with its tail on fire.”  
  
“If you hadn’t helped us, served with us,” Leia said, “you would have paid off Jabba and none of this would have happened to you. Even if you hadn’t come—come back for me on Hoth . . . well, you never would have been on Bespin. The Alliance owed you, Han. We couldn’t abandon you.”  
  
“It would have been pretty easy from where I’m standing,” Han said. “A lot easier than getting me out of there.” He swallowed again, his mouth feeling dry. His mind just couldn’t seem to process the idea that the whole Rebellion might have been okay with Luke and Leia and Chewie and Lando’s crazy plan to get him out. Them coming after him was one thing, and that was hard enough to believe. He wasn’t sure he could handle owing his life to the whole Rebellion. It just . . . it didn’t make any sense.  
  
“We were never going to abandon you, Han,” Leia said. Her voice sounded firm, and there was a blush staining her cheeks. She looked away, and her throat worked. “We would have come after you no matter what, even if the Alliance had forbidden us from conducting the operation.”  
  
Han blinked, and felt a numb surprise spreading through him. Leia had to really—she had to really care, if she . . . . She loved the Alliance more than anything, more than life itself. If she had been ready to . . . he wasn’t sure if he could deal with that, either.  
  
“Come on, now, your Worship,” Han said. His voice still sounded soft, even to his own ears. “That’s a pretty roguish thing to say. Are you sure you don’t have some scoundrel in your blood after all?”  
  
“I-it’s not as if the Alliance would have ever refused to allow it!” Leia said, her cheeks flushing even more darkly. “There was never any doubt of how much we owed you.” She looked down, then away again, and started to pull back. Han squeezed her hand with his, though, tugging her back toward him.  
  
“What about you?” Han asked.  
  
Leia looked at him then. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks still pink. She looked beautiful, Han thought. She really did. “What do you mean, Han?” she asked, her tone somehow both breathless and impatient. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Did you miss me?” Han asked. He let an easy, lopsided smile spread across his face, leaned in toward her. “Even a little bit?”  
  
Leia looked down. “Maybe just . . . just a bit,” she said. “Possibly.”  
  
“Just a bit?” Han said. “Aw, I’m hurt, Leia.”  
  
“All right, more than a bit,” Leia said. “What is it you want me to say?” She stood up, repacking the medkit and setting it down with jerky movements.  
  
“Well, I don’t know,” Han said, grinning as he watched her. “What d’you want to say?”  
  
“That you’re the same nerf herder as ever,” Leia retorted. “What were you expecting?”  
  
“Hard to say, really,” Han said casually. “I’ve never been frozen in carbonite before.”  
  
It was true, though. He wasn’t certain what he’d been expecting. He still wasn’t. It was like his life had suddenly jumped far, far off course, and he didn’t have a clue what had happened to it, hadn’t even known it was happening, and now he didn’t even know where he was on the nav charts. And now there was Leia, and Luke, and the Rebellion, and a lot more on the line than he’d ever been thinking, and now Jabba was out there blown to smithereens, and the threat that had been hanging over his head so long he’d almost forgotten what it felt like not to have to be checking his back for bounty hunter sights was gone. After what had happened to Jabba, the rest of Desilijic wasn’t going to be coming looking for him any time soon, that was for sure. It was weird, like he’d suddenly been cut loose from a slave circuit or something, so many weights lifted all at once that he didn’t know how to stand up straight anymore without ‘em.  
  
And in their place he had a whole new set of feelings tugging at him, ones he wasn’t used to. Like how he felt about Leia, and Luke, and how Chewie and he hadn’t belonged anywhere in a real long time, and how the Rebellion—the Alliance—really was worth more than a little bit of freedom and a lot of credits, and he knew it, knew that the Empire would just keep growing and growing and getting a little bit worse every day until they stopped it, knew how much it meant to try to keep that from happening. Even if he hadn’t been able to see it for himself, Han saw it in Leia’s eyes, and Luke’s, and Chewie’s, even, every day. And maybe it was stupid, and maybe it was suicidal, and maybe they were all doomed, but look at Leia, her home planet blasted into space debris and still fighting them with everything she had, and look at him, worried about a few little debts, and well, they were all still alive, somehow. Weren’t they? Even if Leia was a crazy princess looking to get herself killed and Luke was a crazy kid with delusions of grandeur who believed in a hokey religion with everything in him, and even if Han just was going soft or something, they were all still around. And maybe a lot of what had seemed really important for a real long time wasn’t so important anymore. Not in comparison.  
  
But Han didn’t know what to think about that, about any of it, and it made him feel weird, and dizzy all over again. He wasn’t sure he wanted to keep thinking about it. He wasn’t sure he could stop.  
  
“Han,” Leia said, and her voice was low. Han looked up to see her gazing at him seriously. As he watched she laid her hand on his forehead, pressed it against his cheek. “Is everything all right?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Han said. “I guess . . . I guess I really don’t know.” He gave her a shaky grin. “Give me a chance to figure it out.”  
  
“Figure what out?” Leia asked.  
  
“I’ll let you know,” Han said.  
  
“Oh, that clears that up,” Leia said acerbically, “thank you, Han.” But she didn’t pull her hand away, turning it so that her palm rested against his jaw, her fingers a soft pressure against the skin of his cheek.  
  
“No problem,” Han said. He looked up at her. His vision had cleared a bit more, her features swimming into focus. Her cheeks were still flushed, chapped from the sand, and her hair was coming down around her face, disheveled from the wind. Her eyes looked wide and dark in her face, which was pinched and drawn compared to the last time he’d seen it, as if by worry. Han had to swallow, and it was harder than it should have been, his throat thickening again. He reached out and tucked the wisps of hair out of her eyes, behind her ears, before he thought.  
  
She looked down, seemingly embarrassed, and pulled her hand back, but then her eyes came up again. “Han!” she said. “Your sight must be coming back!”  
  
“I told you I was feeling a lot better,” Han said, “didn’t I? C’mere.” He pulled Leia toward him—and then she yelped, and was thrown forward against him as the _Falcon_ shuddered and took off. Han himself just slid back against the bulkhead and slipped both arms around Leia.  
  
She pushed him away a moment later, straightening up. “Han, I have a lot of work to do,” she said.  
  
“Yeah?” he said. He grinned. “You can’t just take a minute to enjoy a job well done?”  
  
“Haha, very funny,” Leia said in her most quelling tone, then sighed and set her hands on her hips. She looked down at the floor, and her shoulders kind of . . . settled. Her whole demeanor changed. She looked serious, tired, almost . . . scared. “There’s a lot going on right now, Han,” she said. “The Alliance . . . well, I’m not sure.”  
  
Han sat up. “What is it?” he asked, alarmed. “Some kind of trouble?”  
  
“No,” Leia said, “well, not exactly. It’s big, Han, bigger than anything we’ve dealt with so far, and I—” she shook her head. “Never mind, I shouldn’t be burdening you with this when you’ve only just got away from there, and I . . .”  
  
“Leia,” Han said, feeling suddenly very serious, “if it’s a big deal to you, than I wanna know.”  
  
Leia’s head jolted up as if she were startled, and she stared over at him.  
  
“What?” Han asked self-consciously. The look on her face made his cheeks feel warm. “I’m not allowed to be a little concerned anymore?”  
  
“Han . . .” Leia said.  
  
“Leave it,” Han said quickly. “It’s not . . . I mean, I just want to know what’s going on, that’s all.”  
  
“Oh,” Leia said. “Right. Yes, of course.”  
  
Han felt as if he’d somehow said the wrong thing, somehow been dishonest, even though he hadn’t, hadn’t meant to lie. “Something big,” he said. “Are we talking _Executor_ big, or what, here?”  
  
Leia swallowed, staring across at him. “Bigger,” she said in a low voice. She looked away, began to pace across the small area of the crew quarters. “Han, we might—we might have a shot at the Emperor himself. And I don’t know—”  
  
“We might _what_?” Han demanded. He could hear how loud his voice had gotten, the way it cracked. “Leia, are you out of your mind?  
  
“I don’t know; it might be a trap,” Leia said. “But I don’t see how we can pass it up, and—” She sighed and shook her head. “You’ll hear all about it once we rendezvous with the fleet, I’m sure. But we’ve called in all the groups we can. We think we actually have a shot at this, Han.”  
  
Han shook his head, disbelieving. He simply didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think there were words for what he wanted to say, whatever that was. “What a day,” he said finally. “And I thought killing Jabba was big. You just don’t quit, do you, Princess?”  
  
Leia turned toward him, almost jumping, as if he’d reminded her of something. “Han,” she said, “you really should rest. I don’t want to be bothering you about any of this right now, and I—”  
  
Han had to smile at that. “I’m feeling okay,” he said. “Honestly.”  
  
“You don’t look okay,” Leia said. “I really do think you should have a medic look you over once we get back to the fleet.”  
  
Han sighed. He hated being poked and prodded by medics and med-droids. “All right,” he allowed. “If it’ll make you feel better.”  
  
“Good,” Leia said. “Once they’ve declared you fit, you’d be free to go, of course. I mean . . .” she trailed off, rather awkwardly. And Leia was never awkward.  
  
Han was just as glad that she hadn’t finished that sentence. That had just brought up all sorts of stuff he wasn’t sure he was ready to think about just yet. Like what he was going to do, now that Jabba wasn’t going to be a problem anymore. Like the Alliance, and Leia, and Luke, and all of it. And hell, Leia. What was going on there? He just wished he knew. He just wished he knew how to put a name to everything he was feeling, but, well, maybe that would be too easy. Han sighed and leaned back against the bulkhead. “Yeah,” he said under his breath. “We’ll see about that, I guess.”  
  
Leia looked at him for a moment, he could feel her gaze, but Han didn’t look back up at her. He wasn’t sure what he’d see in her face if he did, wasn’t sure what he wanted to see there. He wanted to figure all this out for himself first.  
  
“Han,” Leia said.  
  
He looked up at her. She was staring at him, a strange, almost confused, look on her face, her eyes wide. “Yeah?” he asked.  
  
Her face changed, and she shook her head, looking away. “No,” she said. “Never mind.”  
  
“No, Leia,” Han started. What was he doing, he wondered, wasn’t he starting the very conversation he’d just been thinking he wasn’t ready to have? What was wrong with him? “What’s up?”  
  
Leia shook her head. “Not right now, Han,” she said. “Really, I just . . . can’t.” She sighed, and then came over to him, leaned down and kissed his forehead. Her lips were warm, dry. “I did miss you,” she said after a moment, quietly.  
  
“Yeah,” Han said. His voice came out low, even if his chest felt weird at that, tight. He grinned up at her, his most aggravating grin. “I knew that.”  
  
Leia shook her head at him, but she smiled, as if despite herself. “You going to get some rest?” she asked. “We’ll be in hyperspace soon.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Han said. He was tired, but not. He felt antsy, jumpy. It was hard to settle. He ran a hand over the _Falcon_ ’s bulkhead, feeling the familiar rivets and joints under his fingers.  
  
Leia sat down beside him, looked at his hand against the dark metal of the _Falcon_ ’s side. After a moment Han sighed and let it drop, then gave her a smile that felt a little bit forced, like a little bit too much. Leia looked back at him seriously, then slid her arm around his waist, not looking at him. Her hand settled, uncertainly, against his side, just above his belt, and stayed there, awkward as if she didn’t know what to do with it or what it was supposed to be doing there.  
  
Han wasn’t sure what he was doing, either. He felt strangely uncertain as he reached out and laid one hand on Leia’s side, then let it curl around her back, like he was doing something dangerous, taking a bigger risk than running spice for Jabba had ever been. And then, somehow, they were pressed closely together, and Leia’s arms were around him, and his arms were around her, his face pushed into her hair, and it felt fine, it felt . . . right. Her hands pressed against his back, stroked down once, firmly, over the still trembling muscles along his spine. Han squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face into her hair, and thought that maybe, under all the smoke and dust, he could still smell t’iil blossoms. He took a deep breath and blew it back out, feeling her breathing against him, feeling his trembling finally begin to ease. He let his eyes stay closed, let himself listen to Leia’s breathing, even as he felt the _Falcon_ shudder around him, and knew they’d made the jump to hyperspace.  She didn’t pull away.


End file.
